


Always Let Your Conscience Be Your Guide

by piratekelly



Series: New Favorite Day [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Derek Hale Feels, Fluff, Happy Ending, Inappropriate Song Usage, Intense longing, M/M, Monster of the Week, Pack Feels, Slow Burn, Spring Break, boys being dumb, magical persuasion, mentions of Kate Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 23:52:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17672447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratekelly/pseuds/piratekelly
Summary: Stiles’ birthday has always fallen over Spring Break. Usually, he’d spend that time with his dad and Scott, but this year, he wants to celebrate with the pack. So, they load up and head to the beach for a few days. What’s the worst that could happen?





	Always Let Your Conscience Be Your Guide

**Author's Note:**

> I used Wikipedia and ignored most of it. Take all of it with a mountain of salt. I’m ignoring everything about astrology, too. This is fandom and I do what I want. Also, I used “magical persuasion” instead of “dubious consent” because while Stiles is under a certain magical influence during a portion of this, nothing actually happens that would require consent.
> 
> Sorry this took a really fucking long time, but it finally happened. The chapter everyone who loved this series when I first started posting it has waited for. The epilogue will be up later.
> 
> For Meagan, who tirelessly beta'd this entire series and always offered words of encouragement when it felt like I was never going to reach the end. She took very rough drafts and helped me make them shine. Above all, thank you for being such a good friend. I love you to infinity and beyond.

 

Before he knows it, two months have gone by. It’s mid-April, the house is very nearly finished, and Derek has been avoiding his problems with a level of consistency and enthusiasm he didn’t know he possessed.

He means to bring up their not-date, he really does. Derek has spent a lot of time looking back on that evening and he fears that his quick denial of the circumstances behind their Valentine’s dinner had been too harsh for what he’d actually been attempting to communicate. He feels an urgent need to comfort Stiles, to tell him that he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded, but how do you explain to someone that you’d like to date them, you just won’t let yourself? There is no winning here for Derek Hale. The thought of Stiles believing that Derek would find him so undateable that he’d vehemently deny ever wanting to date at all him nags at him with every passing day. But he’s at a loss as to how to fix this and come out unscathed.

He means to bring up their not-date, he really does. But time gets away from him. There are celebrations to be had, as pack members keep getting acceptance letters from most of the colleges they’ve applied to. There are battles to be fought and (mostly) won. Derek gets called out of town to discuss the possibility of an alliance with a pack in Nevada, which takes up two weeks of his time. They train hard, study harder, and at the end of the day there’s not a lot of time for pack meetings to just hang out. His opportunities to talk to Stiles alone are few and far between.

He means to bring up their not-date, he really does. It just doesn’t happen because Derek is terrified.

Stiles means more to him than Derek is ready to admit to himself and the thought of jeopardizing the relationship they’ve cultivated in the last few months sends a chill down his spine. They have a good thing going, an easy friendship that’s developed into a fondness for each other, and it’s been a long time since Derek’s had something like that. Sure, he has Erica and Boyd and Isaac, but they’re his betas; in his mind, they feel like siblings. He can’t tell them the things he tells Stiles. It doesn’t feel right laying all of his baggage at the feet of those who are meant to depend on him to lead them, to guide them, to teach them. He doesn’t know how to open up to them and be strong for them at the same time.

He means to bring up their not-date, he really does. Derek just can’t help but feel selfish for wanting to ask something of Stiles that’s so much bigger than Stiles can give. He’s leaving for college soon-- all of them are. Derek can’t ask Stiles to give up what are supposed to be some of the most formative years of his life to spend them in a long-distance relationship that may or may not work out. It’s unfair, he tells himself, to ask that of someone who is just figuring out who they are, where they want to go, who they aspire to be. The last thing Derek wants to do is be something that anchors Stiles to Beacon Hills when he wants nothing more than for him to be able to float free.

He keeps meaning to bring up their not-date, he really does. He does. _He does._

He means to, but that doesn’t mean he ever does.

 

\--

 

Stiles waltzes into the loft right before their meeting is meant to begin, takes his place in front of the group, and whistles loudly. He at least has the decency to look sheepish when everyone immediately stops talking to turn and glare at him.

“I didn’t think that would actually work,” he confesses, pausing for a moment before clapping his hands and addressing them again. “ _But_ , I have something of utmost importance to discuss with you. As you know, spring break is right around the corner, and that means I will also be ushering in my eighteenth year of life. Since it’ll be our last Spring Break together, I think we should do something fun.”

“And why would we want to do that?” Jackson asks.

“Because,” Stiles replies, “I would normally spend this time with Scott and my dad, but this year I’d like to spend it with you guys.”

Derek tries really, really hard to ignore the way Stiles’ gaze shifts toward him when he’d said “you guys”. He knows, he _knows_ , that Stiles has figured out that Derek has basically been avoiding him for weeks, and that it’s hurting both of them more than it’s helping. But the implication that Stiles would, in any way, want to spend his birthday with Derek is… a lot.

“I say we do it,” Allison says, standing up to join Stiles in front of the group. “Lydia’s parents have a house on the beach! We could spend a couple days there and just hang out. And we don’t have to stay at the house the whole time. There’s plenty to do in town, and Stiles is right. We don’t have a lot of time left together.”

After a lengthy pause, Boyd raises his hand. “I’m in.”

Lydia sighs. “I suppose I can ask my parents if we can use the house.”

Stiles punches the air in celebration, and Derek does have to admit that Lydia’s beach house is rather palatial. It’s spacious, and not so far away from civilization that he can’t relocate for a period of time whenever the need strikes. He considers that Stiles may be right.

“Alright,” Derek says quickly, ignoring the way Stiles’ eyes light up and instead shifting his gaze to the floor. He’s not prepared for all that that look entails, and for the rest of the day he’d rather not think about it at all.

“Is that it?” Allison asks.

Stiles waves them all away. “Go forth and grab your belongings. I’m done with you all.”

He knows it wasn’t meant for him, but Derek takes advantage of the dismissal anyway.

 

\--

 

They leave the next day. Everyone is at the loft and ready to go by noon, just as they were instructed, and after a quick luggage check they’re on the road. Jackson is leading the way in his Porsche with Lydia, Danny, and Allison, followed by Scott and the betas in the Jeep. Bringing up the rear, as a birthday present - one Derek regrets the second they pull onto the worn road leading them out of town - is Stiles, driving the Camaro, with Derek in the passenger seat. Erica had given him that _look_ when he’d handed over the keys to an excited Stiles, one that communicated that there would definitely, absolutely be a conversation taking place later. Derek is going to try very, very hard to avoid that conversation. He knows how gone he is, but he’s not willing to discuss it with anyone before he discusses it with Stiles. And he will. He has to.

Derek has done a significant amount of thinking in the last few weeks, even more so in the last few hours since they’d all decided on this trip. If he’s going to be stuck in a house with Stiles for at least three or four days, with little chance of escape, he’s going to have to sit him down and talk to him eventually. They’re close enough now that any kind of avoidance Derek could try would be noticed immediately, and the thought of letting Stiles think he doesn’t want the rest of the pack witnessing the depth of their relationship actually physically pains him.

Sure, the pack has seen a few of the nice things they’ve done for each other, but they haven’t seen the little things; the touches to the back of a neck, hands at the bottom of the spine, leaning into each other as a source of both comfort and strength. Derek is not shy about these things. Derek is, however, scared of what it will mean to share glimpses of that intimacy with everyone else.

Derek watches the way Stiles handles the Camaro with care, as though the car were made of glass. He’s fully aware that the reason Stiles isn’t speeding, always checking his blind spot before merging into either lane, and all but caressing the steering wheel as he glides through California traffic is because Derek threatened to drown him in the ocean and let his body float away with the tide if Stiles got so much as a speck of dust on the car, but that doesn’t make it less hilarious to watch Stiles struggle with obeying the most basic traffic laws.

The sun is shining through the driver’s side window, glinting off the frames of his dark sunglasses, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile as he cruises down the road at a steady seventy miles an hour. He has one hand resting on the gear shift, and Derek wants nothing more than to take that hand and lace his fingers between Stiles’, hear the uptick in the younger man’s heartbeat when he realizes that he’s not imagining it.

He wants, so badly, but he doesn’t indulge in those desires. Not yet.

He’s done a lot of thinking, thought of every possible outcome, and the conclusion he keeps coming back to time and time again is that he has everything to lose by not telling Stiles how he really feels, and so much to gain if Stiles is receptive. Things aren’t awkward between them, not in the least, but things have certainly changed. Leading up to Valentine’s Day the nature of their relationship had shifted into something bordering on romantic, something Derek hasn’t experienced in a very long time. If he does this now, while they’re all together in a neutral location, it puts less pressure on Stiles. It can, after all, only go one of two ways. It works, and they have the rest of the semester and all summer to be together. Or, it doesn’t, they never have to return to the house where it all went wrong ever again, and they have the summer to mend their friendship before Stiles leaves for school in the fall.

His heart races as he confirms to himself that, yes, he is going to make some sort of advance and hope that Stiles is open to it. The knowledge is equal parts terrifying and thrilling, but now that he’s decided that it’s necessary to come clean, it feels right. The weight has been lifted, and now he just needs to figure out what to do next.

 

\--

 

After a painless, if boring, three hour drive, they slowly make their way down a half mile lane before pulling up in front of a sprawling five bed, four bath luxury home right on the coast. Derek watches the way Stiles’ jaw drops in awe as the building just seems to grow in size the closer they get. He can see that most of the pack are piling out of cars and reaching in for their respective pieces of luggage, eagerly firing off dibs as to who will be sleeping where. By the time Stiles and Derek actually get themselves and their things out of the Camaro, room assignments have been made, without any of their input. All the couples are bunking up in their own rooms, leaving Danny and Isaac to share, since they were the only ones left before the Camaro was emptied out.

Which leaves Stiles and Derek to room together. Alone. In a room with a single, queen bed.

It’s not as though they haven’t shared a bed before, but Derek would be much more impressed with this arrangement if he’d already followed through on his plan. Now he’s going to have to wait for the last day they’re there, because Derek is capable of a lot of things, but sleeping well on a couch is not one of them, and the couch is exactly where he’ll be if Stiles rejects him. He sighs deeply as he pulls his bag out of the trunk, silently berating himself for not thinking about sleeping arrangements earlier. It only confirms his long-held suspicions that he is, in fact, a “one problem at a time” kind of guy.

As he closes the trunk and makes his way toward the house, he can’t stop himself from hoping against hope that nothing else will pop up over the next few days. He needs a break.

 

\--

 

Everyone makes quick work of dumping their bags in their assigned rooms and changing into their swimwear before basically throwing themselves into the sand, laughing and yelling as they go. Derek watches them run out to the water, Scott tripping as the tide comes in faster than he’d anticipated and knocks his feet out from under him. He surfaces with his customary puppy dog smile and a shake of his hair, sending Allison into a fit of laughter as she tries to avoid the spray. His heart swells with pride as he watches his pack enjoy just being with each other, carrying on without a care in the world like normal teenagers should. The struggles of the last few years will never be behind them, but moments like these remind him that packs are at their strongest when they’re together, and it brings him immense comfort.

Eventually, Lydia and Allison make their way back to the beach, begging off of spending more time in the chilly ocean in favor of drying themselves out in the sun. He keeps them company, making himself comfortable on the deck and opening up a book while the others start a game of volleyball closer to the house. He only reads a few pages, having gone over three different pages multiple times, because he keeps getting distracted by Stiles. Stiles’ skin glistening in the sunlight, the freckles popping up faintly over his nose and cheeks, the way he extends his body, reaching up to grab the volleyball before it gets pulled away with the tide. Derek is both aroused and slightly confused. He’s slept next to that body countless times, woken up wrapped around it, taking comfort in its warmth, and yet he’s never thought of Stiles’ body as, well, _hot_. The last time he’d seen Stiles shirtless was after he’d been kidnapped and that was only because his shirt was in tatters anyway, but he hadn’t actually _looked_. Well, he had actually looked, but he hadn’t really _seen_.

When the hell did Stiles stop being a scrawny, mouthy kid, and turn into a wiry, lean man? And, after these last few months where they’ve spent more than their fair share of nights sleeping pressed against each other, how had Derek never noticed?

Before he can entertain that thought any longer he decides to get up and start the grill. The sun will be setting shortly. After a full afternoon on the beach the pack will be hungry, and Derek needs time to process this new layer of his more physical attraction.

 

\--

 

By the time Derek has the fire going, everyone has taken a place around the large patio table behind him. They have chips and dips, the makings for s’mores, and other campfire necessities, and are entertaining themselves while Derek pokes at the fire. Despite his anxiety around fire, Derek has proven himself to be quite the grillmaster when pack meetings have called for it. He has to have complete control over what he’s doing every step of the way, and the smell of smoke still makes him wince, but soon enough his focus settles on the sizzle and pop of the cooking meat in front of him, and eventually he tunes out the noise around him altogether.

“Need some help?”

Derek jumps a little and Stiles snorts. “Do you actually _want_ to help, or are you just here to bother me?”

“I’m wounded, Derek,” Stiles replies, hand resting over his heart. “That dug deep.”

“Not deep enough,” Derek mumbles, flipping over a burger.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Stiles frowns and moves closer, close enough, Derek observes, that they both know the rest of the pack won’t be able to hear whatever Stiles is about to say.

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well,” Stiles replies, stealing the tongs from Derek’s hands to remove the hot dogs from the grill and put them on a plate. “We haven’t talked a lot lately, that’s all. I mean, we’ve spoken, yeah, but not like we usually do.”

Derek steps to his right so that Stiles can stand next to him in front of the grill as he flips another burger. “I’m okay, Stiles. If you want, we can find some time to hang out while we’re here, just the two of us?”

Stiles smiles. “I’d like that.”

“In the meantime, let’s eat dinner and just relax. We’ll find time. I promise.”

“Alright,” Stiles nods, backing away. “Whenever you want, just come find me.”

Derek relaxes and turns back to the grill, focusing all of his attention on it. Not for the first time, Derek is grateful for Stiles’ willingness to understand that sometimes he just needs to work shit out on his own. He doesn’t want to start a conversation he’s not sure how to have yet, and that’s what will happen if he tries to go to Stiles now. He just needs to get his thoughts in order, that’s all. He’ll go to Stiles when he’s ready.

 

\--

 

Spending time together, turns out to be a really good thing for them. It’s been a while since the whole group has been able to be so relaxed together. Once the sun has set everyone agrees to go back inside where the breeze coming off the ocean won’t give everyone chills. Lydia orders pizza and insists on picking the movie – which earns her a collective groan from the group – and everyone else makes a giant mess of pillows and blankets in the entertainment room. Not long after they’ve eaten, everyone slowly starts nodding off one by one. Eventually they’re all passed out by the time Noah states that he wrote Allie for an entire year with no answer.

Stiles is leaning against Derek, who is cozied up in the corner of the large sectional couch. Derek can feel Stiles’ steady, even breathing as he lulls himself into sleep. This isn’t unlike any other night they’ve spent together, except that the pack is around this time. He’s not uncomfortable, though. Everyone else seems to be happily paired off - even Isaac and Danny, who have become fast friends for being no more than acquaintances when this whole trip started - and everything feels exactly as it should be. He smiles to himself in the darkness, snuggling down into Stiles’ embrace.

“G’sleep ‘erek,” Stiles mumbles.

“You go to sleep,” he replies.

“Fuck or shut up,” grumbles Erica from the other side of the room.

Derek snorts and chooses sleep.

 

\--

 

When Stiles wakes the next morning it’s to the sight of Derek basically spread eagle on 85% of the mattress, leaving Stiles to fend for himself as he valiantly tries not to go tumbling over the edge of the bed. It’s not his favorite way to wake up, but he’s not unaccustomed to it in moments like this, where Derek has fallen asleep next to him. The knowledge that Derek is a sprawler brings him no small amount of joy. He looks like a total dork, hair pointing in every which direction, but he always looks so relaxed in sleep, like these precious hours of the night are all he gets for respite, so Stiles quietly moves from their shared bed and exits the room.

He heads downstairs to find Boyd cooking enough breakfast food to feed a few small armies: plates full of eggs, pancakes, sausage and bacon line the countertops as one by one the rest of the group slowly filters down into the kitchen, grabbing empty plates and silverware as they go. Boyd, when it comes to breakfast, is unashamed by his devotion, and happily helps pass plates around the table.

When everyone has finished eating and all the hot water has been used, the girls decide to head into town to do whatever it is they feel like doing, Stiles doesn’t pay attention, while the guys stay at the house and get themselves set up in Lydia’s parent’s massive TV room to play Mario Kart. It’s fun, blowing off some steam with his friends, all of them ganging up to throw shells and banana peels at whoever is in the lead, laughing as each of them somehow manages to fall off of Rainbow Road at least once every race because they keep swinging wildly at each other’s remotes trying to sabotage each other. Isaac is in tears, curled up in a ball on the floor laughing when the girls finally come back to the house and announce that they’re going to be setting up a bonfire on the beach if any of them want to join. They had, of course, had the foresight to pick up more food before journeying back, arms full of hot dogs, brats, chips, buns, and the makings of s’mores.  

As the sun begins to set, Stiles feels slightly melancholic at all the time they wasted not hanging out before Scott was bitten. Yes, they were different people then, and maybe it wouldn’t have been the same, but he can’t help but wonder if maybe his entire high school experience would have been different if he’d had just one other person who wasn’t Scott or his dad to rely on. That’s not to say that he couldn’t have made a difference on his own; he could have tried to be friends with Lydia instead of following her around like a lovesick puppy. He could have actually talked to Erica or Isaac or Boyd instead of passing them in the halls without a backward glance.

Out of the corner of his eye he notices that Derek is staring at him, frowning slightly, a question in his eyes. Stiles waves him off, nodding that he’s okay. Derek must understand that Stiles is just having one of those moments where he’s stuck in his own head and nods in return. There’s no room for any kind of longing tonight. They all ended up right where they were supposed to be in the end, right here around the fire, at ease with each other in a way that would take anyone else years to achieve.

Erica proposes a game of truth or dare, and despite numerous groans of disapproval, they do end up playing for a few rounds. Boyd is dared to skinny dip, a dare he has no problem completing; Derek has to name the most embarrassing song in his music library and after much prodding he admits to enjoying a little Susan Boyle from time to time; and Allison confesses to the number of jumbo marshmallows she can stuff in her mouth and still say “Chubby Bunny” and demonstrates. Stiles is almost positive he’s never seen Lydia laugh so hard in all the years he’s known her.

Conversation eventually turns to ghost stories and before too long there are yawns coupling with the ocean waves as everyone starts to get tired. Allison is asleep, head resting on Scott’s thigh, Lydia is braiding Erica’s hair, and Isaac has disappeared completely, probably inside to sneak a hot shower before bed. Stiles feels his eyelids grow heavy, his body relaxing into his chair, and Jackson takes that moment to tell everyone they should go to bed already because they’re going to do this all over again tomorrow.

When everyone moves to head inside, Derek manages to catch Stiles’ eye and mouths “tomorrow”, and Stiles nods in return. He doesn’t really know what “tomorrow” entails other than talking about what’s been bothering the other man for so long, but as Derek puts out the fire and follows Stiles up the beach back to the house, Stiles can’t help but think that it doesn’t matter. As long as they’re together, he’s okay with whatever Derek has planned.

 

\--

 

Their third and final night there, the day of Stiles’ birthday, Derek decides he’s going to do it. He’s going to do something special, he’s going to explain everything, and he’s going to woo Stiles like no one’s ever been wooed before.

He packs a dinner of their own, scopes a place just down the beach from the house where they have enough privacy to feel like they’re alone, but aren’t so far away that they can’t be reached immediately if needed. He sets up two tiki torches and a blanket, then returns to the house to grab Stiles. Stiles, who looks comfortable in a pair of loose gray sweatpants and a blue t-shirt. Stiles, whose skin is slightly bronzed from a few days out in the sun, whose smile is just as infectious as ever, and Derek is...well, he’s petrified, if he’s being completely honest, but there’s a glimmer of excitement shining through and he clings to that instead.

So Stiles pulls him away, gets a knowing look from almost everyone in the room because he’s no longer living under the delusion that they don’t know what’s going on here, and they take a nice walk to where Derek’s set everything up.

They’re the only two left on the beach, all other beach-goers having retired for the day, gone home to prepare for tomorrow. Stiles and Derek share sandwiches and chips and pop, the typical food they eat when they’re watching movies together. Things are easy, when it’s just the two of them. He had thought about bringing the laptop out here with them, imagined turning on a movie while they settled on a blanket under the stars and pretended that for just a little while, everything between them is as it’s always been. But then he thought about sand and salt water and decided against it, opting instead to (hopefully) create a Disney moment of their own.

The sun dips below the horizon and Derek stands to light the torches, the warm glow of the flames doing wonders for Stiles’ appeal. He looks warm, inviting, and Derek wants nothing more than to move right in and curl up next to him, but there’s a lot they need to cover, and while they have all night, Derek hopes it’s not going to take that long. He wants to see Stiles smile the way he only does when they’re alone, open and easy like a summer breeze. He wants Stiles to squeeze his hand, acknowledge that this has where they’ve been heading all along, and smile in return.

They lay back on the blanket, staring up at the sky as it fades from a light purple to the dark blue of nighttime. The sky is sprinkled with stars, and Derek starts talking about the constellations, reciting the stories behind them from memory.

“Why do you know all this?” Stiles asks, shifting onto his side. His hand brushes over Derek’s, just a light graze before coming to rest just a few inches from Derek’s chest. Stiles steals a quick glance at him, and Derek’s heart skips a beat. They’ve been in close proximity so many times over the years that Derek can’t actually pinpoint the moment where it stopped being uncomfortable and became normal, but this feels different. Stiles’ passing glances and stuttering heartbeat imply that this is a more deliberate effort at being close. While Derek has to acknowledge that it’s a little out of character for Stiles to be this brazen – as much as either of them is capable of being when things are so uncertain – Derek is more than happy to let Stiles take the lead and see where it goes.

Derek shrugs. “I thought it might impress girls.”

“You mean the ladies weren’t practically throwing themselves at you over those ears and that smile?”

“You’d be surprised,” Derek replies, turning to look Stiles in the eye. He’s so close now, his hand having moved a little closer, close enough that if Derek took a deep breath they’d be touching. He’s a little dizzy with how charged the air is getting around them, heart thumping against his ribs so hard he’s surprised Stiles can’t actually see it. Now that Stiles seems to be throwing compliments into the mix, Derek is relieved to have it confirmed that he doesn’t have to spell out what his intentions are with this setup. “I may have been a jock, but I was awkward too.”

Stiles snorts, disbelieving. “You’re not awkward, you’re quiet. Don’t forget that I actually met 16-year-old you, Derek. You knew you were hot.”

“You thought I was hot?” He can’t stop the question before it passes his lips, and with the way Stiles’ heart _thump-thumps_ in response, he isn’t in any rush to assure Stiles that he didn’t mean it “like that”.

Stiles doesn’t answer, and instead points up to the sky. “So what’s that one?”

Derek smiles softly, letting it go for now, and looks up. He tries to figure out what Stiles could be pointing at. He thought he’d covered everything, but after a few moments of staring, he figures it out, and laughs.

“What?” Stiles asks. “What’s so funny?”

Derek gets himself under control just enough to tell him that it’s the Hercules constellation. He can’t stop laughing, though, because of _course_ Stiles would point out the one Disney-related constellation in the sky when Derek is trying to have a moment with him.

“Derek? Do I need to call IX-I-I? Are you going to be okay?”

The question sends Derek into another fit of laughter, and before he knows it, Stiles is laughing too, hard enough that the hand he’d been resting his head on comes out from underneath him and he falls onto Derek’s chest, laughing into the soft cotton of his sweater. Derek has cramps in his stomach by the time he manages to really get himself to calm down, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes as Stiles winds down too.

Stiles looks up then, and Derek can’t stop himself from staring into his eyes. He can practically feel the buzz of Stiles’ excitement, tinged with uncertainty, against his skin, can smell the way the low level arousal builds achingly slow as they stare into each other’s eyes. Stiles doesn’t usually do prolonged eye contact, scared that someone will be able to see right through him, through his bravado and sarcasm and recklessness, and get a glimpse at how unsure and scared he really is, but his gaze is locked in on Derek’s, the corner of his mouth turned up in a gentle, private smile, and Derek grins back. This is the perfect moment, he realizes, to do exactly what he came here for. But before he can make the first move Stiles leans in, slowly shifting so that their faces are perfectly aligned, and slowly leaning towards Derek.

“Stiles, I --”

And then he hears it. A beautiful, sweet song from seemingly thin air. He wants, he wants so bad, but something about this just doesn’t feel right. What had felt natural only moments ago now feels forced, instinctual, completely devoid of any kind of emotional investment, and then it hits him.

“Oh, crap,” he says, leaning back and burying his face in his hands.

“What?” Stiles asks, nuzzling into Derek’s neck.

Derek is loath to pull away, but if he’s right, then this isn’t Stiles talking. “We have to go back to the house.”

Stiles leans back, gazing at him softly. “But don’t you want to stay here with me?”

Derek groans and stands up, pulling Stiles with him. Yes, he absolutely wants to stay there with him, go back to the way they were even fifteen minutes ago and pick up right where they left off so badly that he feels it in his teeth, but he wants Stiles to be one hundred percent in control of himself if or when anything happens between them, and their current predicament is the exact opposite of that.

It’s not long before they’re back in the house - that is, Stiles started moving a lot faster when Derek said he’d give him a piggyback ride, because physical contact seemed to sate whatever need was growing in him. They walk into the main room where the pack is sitting around playing what looks to be a very intense game of five card draw. Erica looks like she could cry she’s so happy that Derek’s angsting is over, but all of them must sense that something is off because the second he puts Stiles down Scott immediately jumps up to stand by his side.

“Lydia, can I talk to you?”

She nods, following him into the kitchen.

“Siren song about a half mile down the beach. Can you and a few others take care of it?”

Lydia nods, moving to turn away before stopping herself. “You know what this means, Derek.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You and I both know that’s not true. A siren song can’t conjure emotions that aren’t already there.”

Derek appreciates what Lydia is saying, he really does, but she’s not the one he wants to discuss his or Stiles’ feelings with right now. “I said leave it, Lydia.”

She nods, taking a step back. “Okay. I will, at least for now.”  She glances down the hall where Erica followed Stiles (because somewhere along the line, they’d become best friends while no one was looking) then looks back at Derek. “Allison and I have this one, but you might want to rescue him from Erica. You know how tactile Stiles can be, and I don’t think seeing the two of them snuggle is going to make you feel any better right now.”

Derek snorts and thinks to himself, _You have no idea_.

 

\--

 

As Allison and Lydia search out the source of the song well into the night, Stiles is forced to wear headphones and turn them all the way up. For a temporary solution it seems to work well enough. The song loses enough of its power to let him remain lucid, but with Derek’s enhanced hearing any attempt to tune it out would be pointless, so he spends the entire day practicing his restraint and not jumping Stiles like he wants to.

Stiles is dancing around the room, singing anything from 90s pop to 80s power ballads and beyond, and Derek is both amused and frustrated. He would love to be able to find joy in the absolute freedom Stiles is experiencing right now, but under these circumstances he just can’t. Derek has been too busy wondering if any of the signs Stiles had been giving last night were genuine or if Stiles was under the siren’s influence. Maybe he’ll ask, but it won’t be soon. They need to get past this first.

Then Stiles starts singing about his neck and his back, and it’s all downhill from there.

This is like Derek’s own personal brand of torture. Stiles is swinging his hips, bumping and grinding against the air and Derek longs to go to him, thinks about all the damage those hips could do if put to good use, wants to plaster himself to Stiles’ back and feel his body moving in time with the music, but before Derek’s imagination can get too carried away the siren’s song ends and Isaac and Danny walk in. Stiles forgets to pull the headphones out and starts yelling about how things are going when Derek rips them out of his ears and tells him it’s over.

Everyone goes to sleep early that night because they’re driving back to Beacon Hills in the morning, but Stiles texts Derek from their room, the one place in the house Derek is planning on avoiding until he can’t avoid it any longer.

_> > So I did some research on sirens._

_< < Go to sleep._

_> > About how they manipulate things. Do shady stuff._

_< < Drop it, Stiles._

Derek doesn’t get a response, so he assumes his point has been made and Stiles is rolling around fitfully in the bed they’ve been sharing, trying to figure out what he’s done to frustrate Derek so much. He wishes he could walk into that room and make everything right, but he needs the night to think. He can’t do what he wants if his head isn’t in the right place.

_> > Alright, message received. File this under things we’ll never talk about again_.

Derek sighs, not believing for one second that Stiles is actually going to let this go, but locks his phone anyway. Tomorrow should be fun.

 

\--

 

Tomorrow is not fun. Tomorrow is anything but fun.

Stiles isn’t talking to him that morning, but the rest of the pack are ready to leave long before he and Derek are, so Derek sends them on their way, hoping that being separated from everyone will give him time to think and Stiles time to cool down.

That doesn’t really work either.

They manage to get into the car without incident, but the ride itself is awkward. It’s been a long time since they were so uncomfortable around each other that Derek’s completely forgotten how to react to it. Nothing he tries seems to be working. Stiles didn’t even want to _drive_ , that’s how much he doesn’t want to talk to Derek at the moment. They’re about an hour away from home when Stiles apparently decides he’s had enough of the silence.

“Can we just talk for a minute?”

He would much rather pull his own teeth out than have what is bound to be a painful conversation while trapped in his car a hundred miles from home, but instead of doing the mature thing and telling Stiles he doesn’t want to talk right now, he acts like he never even heard Stiles speak.

“Cool. Good chat. Let me know when you want to start acting like an adult again.”

The next fifteen minutes are full of Stiles huffing intermittently, shifting in his seat, playing with the radio and making as much noise as possible before Derek finally seems to get it in his head that this isn’t going to stop until Stiles gets what he wants.

Derek growls and quickly merges to the right, barely managing to make it onto the exit ramp in one piece. He ignores Stiles reaching for the handle, swearing as he does so, and remains quiet. This has been the most stressful car trip of his entire life and suddenly he wants nothing more than to be as far away from this moment as possible. He wants the loft and the quiet comfort of the sunlight shining in the main room and to just be left alone until he can work through the tangle of thoughts in his head. He wants happiness and peace but right now his insecurities and a million other things that feed into them have created this seemingly insurmountable distance between them that Derek can’t figure out how to close.

They come to a stop sign and Derek’s choice is right or left, one dirt road or another, but he doesn’t get a chance to decide before Stiles reaches for the handle and throws the door open, pouring himself out onto the road below.

“What the hell was that about? I thought we were done with trying to kill each other!”

“Did it ever occur to you that I wanted to be sure about this?” Derek asks. There’s no point in beating around the bush anymore. If Stiles wants to have this out, then that’s what they’ll do.

Stiles says. “You seemed pretty sure last night.”

“I _was_ sure, Stiles. That’s why I took you out on the beach. I was going to tell you everything until I realized what was happening,” Derek replies, pinching his nose. He’s going to have the headache from hell later. “By then you were affected by the siren call of some lady in the sea and I didn’t know if what you were doing was because you wanted to, or because your baser instincts were telling you to do it.”

“You could have just told me what was going on.”

“You really think you would have believed me? That you would have taken my word for it, no questions asked?”

Stiles is silent for a moment, hands on his hips as he stares at the ground as though it has all the answers. “Then why avoid me, after? Why not just talk to me?”

“Why did it have to happen right then?”

“Because, Derek,” Stiles replies. “If I let you sit and wallow for too long, we’ll never talk about it. You had _plans_ last night, plans that I was 100% on board with before any external forces decided that we don’t get to have nice things. But what happened doesn’t change the fact that I went in to that moment of my own volition, with a full understanding of what was going on. The way I feel about you hasn’t changed, not even a little.”

It’s out in the open now, this thing between them that they both knew was there but never actually acknowledged. The confirmation that Derek’s feelings were returned should have had his heart floating out of his chest, but in this moment it makes him a little sad. After all they’ve been through, both as friends and strangers, they deserved for this moment to be a happy one, uncomplicated by Derek’s emotional constipation and Stiles’ stubbornness. It wasn’t supposed to go this way, and to have what should have been a special moment ripped away from him like every other time in his life, fills him with anger.

“Stiles, that wasn’t you, and despite that I thought about just going through with it anyway. We’ve been working up to this for _months_ , but the fact that, even for a second, I thought about saying the hell with it and finishing what I started? That’s what scares me.”

Stiles groans, rubbing his face roughly with both hands. “Derek, come on. You’re the _only one_ who thinks for even half a second that you’d be capable of something like that. You think I don’t know what you’re up to? Why you waited so long? You’re not her, man. You’re not. And you never could be. I know that, deep down, you know you aren’t. I just wish you would _believe_ it.”

And with that, Stiles walks back toward the car, opens the passenger seat, and climbs inside.

The rest of the drive home is made in silence, the occasional bump in the road the only thing to break the tension around them. It is, without a doubt, the worst time he’s had in Stiles’ presence since the first day they met, back when Derek was nothing but a walking monument carrying all the names of the family he thought himself guilty of killing on his heart. He hates that it’s all come to this, that they’ve reached some sort of impasse, but if this is a conversation they were ever going to have to have, he’s glad they’ve had it out now, even if it’s left them feeling sour toward each other.

He only wishes Stiles felt the same.

They pull up into Stiles’ driveway and sit there, neither of them willing to be the first to reach out and fix whatever’s been broken between them. Trust? Safety? Derek doesn’t know. He’s not sure how to begin mending it either. He just knows what he needs, and knows Stiles isn’t going to like it.

“Can I just… Can I have some time?” He needs to think about some of the things Stiles said, and he can’t do that if the cause of his introspection is sitting in the same room as him.

“Whatever Derek,” Stiles says, getting out and slamming the passenger door shut behind him. Derek backs out of the driveway before he can catch whatever it is that Stiles is muttering under his breath. He suspects it’s not very flattering, and possibly pretty hurtful, and nothing he needs floating around in his head for the next few days.

He never stops second guessing himself.

 

\--

 

A week. Stiles gives Derek a week to get it through his thick, stupidly attractive skull that everything between them is fine, Stiles harbors no ill will toward Derek for fucking protecting him from a siren, and can they please just make out already.

Bright and early on Tuesday morning - because let’s be real, if Stiles has to choose between an entire day of homeroom or making things right with Derek, the ridiculously hot, emotionally constipated werewolf is going to win every time - Stiles drives himself over to the loft, and parks the jeep next to the Camaro. It’s a sight he’s missed, honestly, and he’d give the image before him further consideration but he’s a man on a mission and he does not have time to get mushy over a couple cars. This is about Derek, and Stiles approaching him in the one place in Beacon Hills that manages to bring him any amount of peace bodes well for their coming conversation.

Stiles throws open the door to the loft and is greeted with the sight of Derek standing in front of all of those windows, sunlight shining all around him, bright and warm, and he looks at peace, body relaxed as he takes in the skyline of Beacon Hills, the town he’s sworn to protect. Stiles’ heart absolutely does not skip a beat.

“I’m sorry.” Derek turns around.

“For what? I mean, yeah, an apology is great, but what exactly are you apologizing for?”

Derek smiles, a little quirk at the corner of his mouth. “I could have handled the whole situation better.”

“No shit,” Stiles laughs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“For starters,” Derek replies, walking toward Stiles. “I care about you. In a more-than-friends way.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and fails at trying to hide a smile. “You’re an idiot. I _know_ you care about me. That’s sort of the heart of the issue here.”

Derek is just about ready to pop his claws, because Stiles just isn’t getting it, but he’s learned lately that getting mad at Stiles being purposely obtuse gets him nowhere. “It’s not just about you, Stiles. It’s about me, too. I’m not going to tell you that you’re too young, or that you don’t know what you’re getting into, because that would be an insult to everything about you that keeps pulling me back into your ridiculous orbit.”

Stiles sighs, shoulders sagging like the wind has completely gone from his sails. “Then what is it? Why go to the lengths that you did to do something nice, and then run away the second it didn’t go your way?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, running away is kind of what I do.”

Stiles is unimpressed and Derek realizes that he needs, as Stiles would say, to shit or get off the pot.

“You can’t deny that - despite every piece of evidence that says we should do this - our lives are headed in very different directions. You’re gonna go to college, and you’ll meet new people, and you’ll evolve as a person. Me? I’ve already done all that. I know people never really stop growing, but I’m pretty comfortable with where I’m at now. This is all I’ll ever be.”

Stiles gets in his face, grabbing his upper arms. “It doesn’t have to be. There is so much potential in you, Derek. I don’t know what else I can say or do that will make you see that, but it’s true.”

Derek leans forward and rests his forehead against Stiles’ head, breathing in the scent of cheap body wash and Stiles’ Adderall. “You make things sound so easy.”

Stiles chuckles and pulls him closer, and Derek can’t stop the shiver that travels down his spine. “Believe it or not, Derek, but every once in a while things _are_ that easy.”

“I hate that I always have to be the practical one.”

“Being practical is an excuse, Derek, and we both know it.”

Derek pulls himself out of Stiles’ embrace, immediately yearning for the warmth of his body. “It’s saved my life more times than I can count.”

“And it’s hurt you just as often, Derek. You use that practicality to keep everyone at a distance, because the last time you took something for yourself, you lost everything. I get why you do it, I do, but you also didn’t know what you were getting yourself into back then.”

“So?”

“With me, what you see is what you get. I’m an asshole--” Derek tries to get a word in, but one look from Stiles has him closing his mouth. “Everyone, including myself, knows it. I’m pushy, and overprotective, and more often than not I say things I don’t mean. I speak before I think anything through, act even faster, and I am fully aware of the high probability that it will one day get me killed, and I’m just as certain of that as I am that I love you.”

A pregnant pause floats around them like dust particles in the sunlight, and Derek can’t think straight, because Stiles has put into the universe the one thing that Derek has wanted from him these last few months and he’s terrified of what it means.  
  
“We’re friends, Stiles,” Derek says, voice so low he knows Stiles has to struggle to hear him.

The other man frowns, steps further away from Derek, body angled towards the door. “Friends don’t try to romance each other, Derek. Not like you tried to romance me.”

Derek sighs burying his face in his hands. “Let me finish, Stiles. If ever there was a time you needed to let me finish, it’s now.”

Stiles nods, eyes downcast. Derek only hopes he comes up with the right words.

“We’re friends, right? I’d go so far as to say that you’re my best friend. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone I can trust the way that I trust you. I’ve told you things that only Laura ever knew. You have a lot of power over me because of that.”

“I would never --”

“I know, Stiles,” Derek smiles, flattered by the conviction in Stiles’ reaction. “But what you’re asking me? There’s a lot of risk in that. I lose you and I lose… everything.”

“Derek,” Stiles sighs, extending a hand. “You have to stop being so fatalistic. What if it _does_ work out? What if we get everything we’ve ever wanted, starting here? Now? You deserve that chance, and I think I do too.”

“I’m broken, Stiles. I distrust everyone I meet, I’ve got more baggage than anyone deserves. I don't share my feelings, or make myself emotionally available, or ask for help nearly as often as I offer it. I _still_ live in an abandoned building. This is all I’ve got to offer.”

“No it’s not,” Stiles replies, gently carding his fingers through Derek’s hair. “There is so much more to you than your pain, and even if there weren’t, I’d still take anything you wanted to give me.”

He doesn’t believe what Stiles is saying, not really. Derek is capable of a great many things, but personal growth seems entirely outside the realm of possibility. Despite all he’s been through since he came back to Beacon Hills, Derek hasn’t so much _changed_ as he has let parts of his old self come to the fore, bringing back pieces of the person he’d been before the fire, before Laura and Peter and everything else that’s happened in his life. But for all of the bad, there had still been a few good things. One of the best is standing right in front of him, all but begging Derek to, for once, not let his trauma dictate the trajectory of his life.

He’s asking Derek to be brave.

Derek inhales shakily and looks Stiles in the eye. “So take it,” he whispers.

And Stiles kisses him like he’s never going to get another chance, and Derek can’t really blame him. They need to get better at this whole communicating thing, but that can wait for later.

It’s not perfect. Far from it, actually. Stiles nearly misses completely, catching the corner of Derek’s mouth before shifting slightly to catch his lips full on. Derek pulls Stiles closer and opens himself up to the kiss, rough and full of everything he’s never been able to verbally express. Stiles groans and grabs Derek by the back of his neck, fingers carding through the soft hair at the base of Derek’s skull. Derek channels everything he’s been feeling these last few months - the anger, the frustration, the longing - into this one moment, this one chance he’ll get to have what he wants and do it _right_. Stiles holds himself there, hand in Derek’s hair, chests pressed together, kissing hard enough that Derek thinks his lips might actually bruise. He reaches out, fingers brushing Stiles’ hips, and apparently it does something to Stiles that he likes, because Stiles’ other arm comes around to Derek’s back, holding on as though he thinks Derek is going to push him away.

It seems like forever and no time at all before they break apart, panting and smiling, still wrapped around each other with no indication that either of them is willing to let go. They press their foreheads together and just stay there, content to simply take in the moment and bask in their shared joy that this has finally happened.

Eventually, Stiles says he needs to get back to his house because his dad is expecting him for dinner. He figures he should probably let his dad in on a few things. Especially the werewolves. They’ll start with the werewolves. Maybe he won’t hate Derek so much for being older than Stiles if he has the existence of the supernatural to keep his brain occupied.

Stiles jogs toward the door and Derek smiles. He waits a few seconds, and then races after him, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist and lets their combined momentum push them against the door.

“I once told you,” Derek says, voice low in Stiles’ ear. “Not to run from wolves.”

Stiles stands straight, shoulders back, a sly smile spreading across his face. “Remind me why that is again?”

“Because,” he replies, leaning in close enough for them to be sharing the same breath. “We’ll chase, and we don’t stop until we get what we want.”

A shudder rolls across Stiles’ body. “Derek, what the --”

“Stiles?” Derek says.

“Huh?”

He turns the younger man around, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. “Stop talking.”

Stiles exhales in a rush. “Yeah, okay.”

Their second kiss is much, much better.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been like three years. I hope it lived up. Comments and kudos are the Kleenex I need to soak up the tears of relief at finally having finished this. What a long, long journey.


End file.
